The First Day

George's eyes opened and he found himself sprawled over Katie's bed, one arm under her head and a leg wedged between hers. He lifted his head and peered at the small alarm clock on the other side of the bed. It was just after six in the morning. George let his head fall back to the pillow and he nuzzled the back of Katie's neck, inhaling the scent of her sleep-warmed skin before beginning the process of gently extricating himself from the bed without waking Katie. He reluctantly slid out from under the quilt and nearly whimpered at the loss of the warmth of Katie's body. He found his boxers and pulled them on. 'Wh're you goin'?' Katie asked sleepily.

George perched on the edge of the bed and smoothed Katie's hair from her face. 'Shhh. Go back to sleep. I have to go home,' he murmured. 'I've given Mum enough fits lately,' he added.

'See you later?' Katie asked hopefully.

'Yeah.'

'Come over for tea? 'Bout six?'

'Sounds great.' George leaned down and kissed her. 'Need to go.' He pulled the quilt over Katie's shoulders and stood. He crept into the small sitting room and found his jeans and shirt in crumpled heaps on the floor and shook them out, grimacing over the wrinkles. He quickly dressed and shoved his feet into his trainers and glanced around for his jumper. It was by the door, so he reached down for it as he opened the door, and pulled the jumper over his head while he slipped out of the flat. He softly closed the door and hesitated on the landing, before knocking on the opposite door. It opened to reveal Katie's neighbor, bundled in a thick dressing gown. 'You are a meddlesome, nosy, old busybody,' George said pointedly. 'Thanks.' He ran down the stairs and Disapparated as he left the building.

He approached the Burrow warily. Molly was sitting at the table, her customary early-morning cup of tea at her elbow. George opened the back door and pulled a chair out at the table. Molly looked up from her magazine and gave George the kind of look that made him think she knew everything he was thinking at that moment. He braced himself for the expected onslaught of verbiage, but Molly merely lifted the teapot and inclined her head toward it in question. George nodded wordlessly and Molly flicked her wand carelessly at the cupboard. A cup and saucer landed in front of him and Molly filled his cup. George busied himself with adding sugar and milk to his tea, avoiding his mother's intent gaze. He sipped his tea and set the cup down, straightening his shoulders. 'I spent the night at Katie's,' he said quickly, before he could lose his resolve. 'And you can't lecture me, because I'm older than both you and Dad were,' he blurted. By the time his parents were his age, they had Bill and would soon have Charlie. And all of them were more than aware of the number of months between Bill's birthday and Molly and Arthur's wedding anniversary.

George took another fortifying sip of his tea. 'I'll be twenty-one in just over a month,' he said meaningfully. 'Katie was - is - my...' He sipped his tea once more. 'First,' he mumbled. He waited, wincing slightly in anticipation of his mother's reaction.

Molly's bright brows shot up in surprise, but she merely tilted her head to the side gave George the sort of quizzical look she would give a cake that had fallen the moment it came out of the oven. She continued to sip her tea, gazing thoughtfully at her son, who squirmed in obvious discomfort. She set the cup down in its saucer with a soft click, then pushed herself to her feet, drawing her wand from the pocket of her dressing gown. The corner of her mouth quirked when George visibly braced himself. But she flicked it at a small cupboard near the sink and a small glass jar flew into her hand. George recognized it as the paste he and Fred had developed to treat minor injuries they sustained in the shop after the usual remedies proved to be ill-equipped to the task. She set it down on the table, next to George's cup and gently pushed his head to the side, fingertips brushing over a spot just under where his ear used to be. 'You might want to use that paste before the others get up,' she told him. 'Otherwise, you'll never hear the end of it,' Molly sighed.

George flushed dully, and snatched the small jar of paste from the table, while his other hand flew up to the side of his neck. Molly ran her hand over his hair a few times, like she had done when he was small and she wanted him to settle down and take a nap after lunch. She tilted his chin up with an index finger and looked down at him, her face suddenly serious. 'Be careful, won't you?' she said quietly, then before he could blink she was gone, disappearing up the stairs to wash before she came back down to make breakfast. He gaped after her for a moment, then felt the bottom drop from his stomach.

There was a charm that could prevent pregnancy, if done correctly. And George remembered clearly the day Arthur had taught it to him and Fred. There was just one small problem...

He couldn't remember for the life of him if Katie had ever said the incantation.

Because George knew for certain he hadn't said it at all the previous night.

*****

George slipped a plate into the sudsy hot water, swirling a dishcloth over the surface of the plate. Harry, he'd noticed, more often than not did the washing up by hand, a chore George thought Harry would have stopped doing once he was able to do magic legally out of school - if nothing else than for the sheer enjoyment of never having to be reminded of his previous life. But Harry claimed it was soothing, mindless even, and one of the few things he could do to still the clamor in his mind. He'd even gone so far as to admit when things weren't going well for him at the Ministry, Harry found that doing the washing up for Molly after dinner gave him a small sense that he had managed to accomplish something - anything - when he could see the stack of plates and cutlery shrink and reappear on the other side as something transformed. It was orderly.

'George?' Katie nudged him with an elbow, a tea towel in one hand. 'Are you going to wipe the pattern off my plate?'

'What? Oh...' George rinsed the plate and handed it to Katie.

Katie began to dry the plate and set it in the cupboard behind them. 'Knut for your thoughts?' she asked.

George chuckled softly. 'Not worth that much.' He reached for another plate and lowered into the sink, ducking his head a little so Katie couldn't see the pensive expression on his face. There wasn't much that either of them considered verboten, as far as conversational topics went, but it made him feel sort of funny to bring up the topic of birth control with her. George didn't consider himself to be a prude, either, although there were certain things he thought crossed some imaginary line he had in his head into what ought to remain personal. He didn't want to hear a bunch of rubbish about cycles and potions, and the nonchalance with which Ron had described that afternoon, in detail, the method he used with Hermione left George a little shaken. He knew he ought to at least attempt to broach the subject with Katie, but every time he tried, the words died in his throat.

'Are you all right?' Katie's worried voice broke through his ruminations. 'You look as if you're going to be sick.' She peered at him in concern. 'Were the sandwiches all right?' She gingerly plucked a leftover sandwich off its plate and sniffed it cautiously. 'I made them exactly the way my mum does...'

'No, the sandwiches were fine,' George assured her hastily.

Katie folded the damp tea towel and smoothed the creases from it. 'Have you come to regret getting involved with me, then?' she asked, a lump in her throat. The towel twisted between her fingers, the knuckles slowly turning white.

'No!' George insisted. He shook his head. 'It's nothing. Just sort of... thinking... about a few things,' he said lamely. He shook himself like a dog and tried to cheerfully smile at her, then turned back to the sink, plunging the cups into the water. He jerked when he felt Katie's hands slide over his back and water sloshed over the edge of the sink onto his shoes. 'We can't do that again!' he blurted.

Katie stared at George for a long moment. 'We can't... what? Read poetry to each other?' she asked, bemused.

'Well, if that's what you want to call it,' George huffed. 'And I don't mean we can't do that anymore, but I don't remember saying any sort of charm so you... we... don't...' He swept his hand in front of his middle in a wide arc, mimicking the curve of a full-term pregnancy. 'Did you do a charm?' he demanded.

Katie's lips twitched, but she merely said, 'No.' She leaned a hip against the counter. 'Would you like to know what my mum calls people who rely on charms?' she asked conversationally.

'What?'

'Mum and Dad.' Katie bit her lip, trying not to laugh out loud. George paled visibly. 'It's all right,' Katie told him, patting his arm soothingly.

George turned back to the sink. 'Once is all it takes, you know,' he muttered darkly. 'Look at my parents,' he added. 'From now on, everything that can be covered will be covered,' he stated vehemently.

'Fine,' Katie said smoothly. She rose on her toes and pressed a kiss to the underside of George's jaw. 'I've got everything under control. Don't worry,' she said.

George squinted at her, trying to judge the veracity of her statement. While he'd never really heard of anything Katie could do besides that infernal charm, he figured she was telling the truth. It might even be something similar to what Molly probably used. George might not have been particularly knowledgeable on the subject, but even he knew his parents weren't exactly celibate. Furthermore, it had to have been effective. Ginny had been the last of the lot of them, and as far as George knew, there hadn't been so much as the whiff of talcum powder once Ginny was out of nappies. He had no reason to not believe Katie. George relaxed slightly and nodded. 'All right.'

*****

Professor Trentham stopped Ginny on her way to her first class. 'Miss Weasley, when is your free period today?' she asked crisply.

'Three. After Herbology.'

'Hmm. You'll want to stop and have a bit of a wash first.'

'Why?' Ginny shifted the heavy bag a bit higher on her shoulder.

'The captains and owners of three Quidditch teams have expressed an interest in recruiting you.'

'Which teams?' Ginny asked quickly.

Trentham allowed herself to smile a little. 'Tutshill, Kenmare, and Holyhead. What will happen is each team will present their offers to you. You won't have to give them an answer straightaway. And perhaps after hearing each other's offers, one team might nudge theirs up a bit. If they feel you're playing hard to get, that is.'

Ginny stopped in the crowded corridor. 'And you suggest I play hard to get?'

'I suggest nothing of the sort, Miss Weasley,' Trentham said primly. 'I merely feel that you ought to weigh each option and choose the one that will benefit you the most. And I urge you not to accept something just because it's been offered,' she said dryly.

Ginny nodded. 'I see.' She began to walk toward the Potions classroom. 'Thank you, professor.'

'One more thing, Miss Weasley,' Trentham began. 'You are good. You're very good,' she said ruefully.

'So I've been told,' Ginny said dryly.

'Mind the cheek, young lady,' Trentham sniffed. She continued, 'I didn't fall off the back of some Axminster last week. I've seen a few former students who've allowed themselves to be pushed into positions they weren't mature enough to handle or lacked the necessary skills to make a proper go of it. If they're any good at developing talent, they'll do one of two things: offer you a place on the practice squad, with the intent to move you up to the reserves and onto the team, eventually; or, if they feel you're too good to languish on a practice squad, you'll be placed on the reserves. It's quite all right to take some time to come to a decision.'

'And that's not playing hard to get?' Ginny snorted skeptically.

'Not at all, Miss Weasley.' Professor Trentham paused at the end of the corridor. 'That is just good sense. Something you seem to have in a greater amount than most others your age.'

Ginny shook her head, chuckling to herself. 'Helps when you're the youngest of seven,' she murmured to herself. It was true, for the most part. Ginny had quickly learned as a child that whatever the twins or Ron did to make their parents angry at them, she ought to do the opposite.

'Three-thirty, in the staffroom, then, Miss Weasley,' Trentham said crisply, and strode into the Transfiguration classroom.

The rest of the day passed in somewhat of a blur for Ginny, but soon after she'd managed to scrub the last of the potting soil from under her fingernails, she presented herself at the door to the staff lounge. Professor Trentham was waiting outside. She tapped the door with her wand, and ushered Ginny into the staffroom. Ginny smiled brightly at the three adults clustered around a table, piled with what the school elves considered a light tea. 'Ah, Ginny, you're early,' McGonagall stated. She gestured to the table. 'Care for a cup of tea?'

'Yes, please.' Ginny deposited her schoolbag on the floor next to the door and accepted the cup McGonagall held out to her. She didn't bother to add sugar, nor milk to her tea, but took a token sip, and replaced the cup in the saucer. 'Right,' she began firmly. 'I'd just like to start off by saying I want to finish school and take my N.E.W.T.s.'

'Don't fancy becoming another Willow, then, eh?' Gwenog Jones said bluntly.

'No.' Ginny perched on the edge of a large wing chair, and set the cup of tea down on the table next to it.

'I don't see that happening to you,' stated a tall, thin wizard, who rather resembled a broom, with his shock of spiky, dark blonde hair. 'I'm Thomas Pinter, scout for Kenmare.'

Ginny snorted delicately. 'Neither did the bloke that recruited Willow,' she retorted.

'Touché, Thomas,' snickered the other scout. 'John McKenzie, Tutshill,' he said to Ginny in introduction.

Gwenog leaned against the mantle and crossed her arms over her chest. 'There are a couple of different ways we can go about this,' she said in her gravelly voice. 'But I think we all have similar offers...?' She glanced at the Thomas and John with a raised eyebrow.

'I do believe so,' John replied.

'So, we can discuss them now, and you can make a decision before you go to dinner, or we'll each leave you the tentative terms of your contract, if you do decide to sign with one of us, and you can reply via owl by the deadline.'

'When is my deadline?' Ginny asked.

'End of March,' Thomas said. 'We'll hold tryouts in July to decide where to place you for the season, and you'd join the team at the beginning of August.'

'Tryouts?' Ginny asked, running suddenly damp palms over the skirt of her uniform.

'Team'll change between now and then,' Gwenog said. 'Some players get traded to other teams, some quit, some retire. We'll need to see how you fit in with the team itself, and if you need some time in the reserves first, before you join the team, or if you need some time with the practice squad. Pay varies based on that.'

'I see.' Ginny nodded and stood up. 'I think I'd like to go over the contracts,' she said quietly. 'On my own.' She thought she saw Gwenog smile at that, and accepted a thick sheaf of parchment from each person. 'It was lovely to meet you again, Miss Jones.'

'Gwenog.'

'Erm... Gwenog...' Ginny shook John and Thomas' hands, then slipped out of the staffroom, gazing in slight dismay at the parchment in her hands. She didn't feel as if a month was enough time to pore over each contract, and make the inevitable pro/con list for each team. She hoped Hermione wasn't too terribly busy with her Ancient Runes project. For as much as Hermione didn't understand Quidditch, she was logical to a fault sometimes, and it was what Ginny felt she needed to be able to make the right decision for herself. Because the truth be told, Ginny didn't care which team of the three she played for, just as long as she had the chance to play.

*****

Hermione gathered her things from the large table in the library where she'd spent the afternoon studying, and stuffed them into her bag. She trudged to the Ancient Runes classroom and dropped the heavy bag into a desk. Dumbledore was already in the portrait frame, his bright blue eyes twinkling.

Hermione dug a scroll of parchment from the bag flicked her wand at it, making it float in mid-air in front of Dumbledore's portrait. She eyed Dumbledore suspiciously as he scanned her translation of 'The Tale of the Three Brothers'. She cleared her throat, unsure of how to approach the topic and not speak out of turn to the late Headmaster. 'Sir?

'Yes, Miss Granger?' Dumbledore glanced at her over the rims of his half-moon glasses.

'In light of recent events, how much of the truth are you going to put in your commentary?' she asked evenly. Remember what Dad told you... Stand your ground...

'Still looking out for Mr. Potter, I see.' Dumbledore's mouth twitched slightly.

Hermione's brows drew together in a grimace. 'I don't want this to disrupt his life,' she said. 'If people knew the Elder wand really existed, he'd spend the rest of his life fending off challenges, never able to live the kind of normal life he craves because of it. It's bad enough he's spent all this time living the way he does. He's just learned to stop pushing people away,' she said sharply.

'I was under the impression that the Elder wand is no longer in Mr. Potter's physical possession,' Dumbledore replied calmly.

'It's not,' Hermione sniffed. 'But you know how the legend goes. He'll spend the rest of his life looking over his shoulder.' She nudged the battered copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard with a finger. 'And if people put two and two together and realize that Harry was in possession of all three of them... It'll be like all that Boy-Who-Lived and Chosen One nonsense that he tried to avoid all over again. But this time it'll be worse.

'It's not fair, sir,' Hermione insisted. 'He never asked for any of it. And I won't be a part of creating a new burden for him.' She drew in a deep breath. -Don't be afraid to say it and mean it... 'Having this translation published while I'm still in school is an honor, sir,' she began carefully. 'But if Harry's mentioned anywhere in the commentaries, even if it's so much as a footnote, then I must respectfully request to you and Professor Babbling that someone else be given this privilege.'

Dumbledore sighed heavily, but nodded. 'I had intended to keep the commentary as if the objects were, in fact, mythological. Harry's name will not be mentioned.' He gazed at Hermione intently for a moment. 'How many other people know the truth?'

'Ron and me, for certain. And I think he's told Ginny, but she won't say anything, either.'

Dumbledore nodded. 'Very well. Now, as I look over your work...'

*****

Harry pulled his glasses off and rubbed his eyes wearily. It was March first. A momentous day. Ron's birthday. And Harry's first day back at work since the explosion in Belfast. Most of it had been occupied by reviewing the transcripts of the sessions between the Malfoys and the members of the Wizengamot. Now that Harry had been cleared to testify in their trials, the Ministry had moved swiftly in rescheduling them. And even with the bulk of their deposition completed, there were still a few things about which Draco remained silent - namely, just what had transpired on the top of the Astronomy tower the night Dumbledore had died. He refused to speak a word in his own defense or corroborate what Harry had told them. It made Harry wonder how long Draco would have been able to resist an Imperius curse. It also made him wonder just how skilled the other boy was in keeping secrets. Draco didn't seem to have anything resembling a confidante. Harry felt even more grateful for having the good sense to choose Ron as a friend. He could tell Ron nearly everything, and quite often did.

'Tired?' asked a quiet voice over the top of Harry's cubicle. Harry shoved his glasses back onto his nose and the form of Avery Carmichael swam into focus.

'A little,' Harry replied guardedly, waiting for the inevitable tart retort from Avery.

Avery shifted and rested his arms on top of the cubicle wall. 'I tried to warn you sooner,' he said in a low voice. 'Before that... bomb exploded. But Patronuses...'

'I understand,' Harry said quickly. Any sort of emotional upheaval made it difficult to cast a Patronus under the best of circumstances, and he could imagine all too well what Avery had been feeling as he tried and failed to cast his Patronus, feeling more and more frantic when he was unable to do it. He also knew it was the closest thing he would get to an apology from Avery.

'Yeah, well,' Avery muttered. 'I just wanted to say...' He nodded at Harry by way of farewell, and disappeared into his own cubicle. Harry shook his head and immersed himself into the Malfoys' files on his desk. He usually didn't feel anything but contempt for the family as a whole, but as he pieced together their history of the past several years, Harry felt a slight stirring of pity. He wanted so badly to squash it down, to grind it under his heel like it was nothing more than an inconvenient weed, but he couldn't. He didn't know what galled him more - that he could see the Malfoys as human, or that they actually were.

'Hiya.' The soft Irish voice startled Harry. 'I, erm, I stopped goin' to those meetings' Seamus said. 'Dean wrote t' me. Told me what had happened to you. And my da... My da had a few things to say to me.' Harry motioned for Seamus to come into the cubicle, but he shook his head. 'I'm all right out here.'

Harry quickly glanced around the tight confines of the cubicle and the realization dawned on him. He shoved the files into his bag and shrugged into his coat. 'Fancy a drink, then?' he asked. 'I'm done for the day.'

Seamus sighed in relief. 'Yeah. A pint would be nice.'

Harry led him to the lifts. He looked at Seamus from the corner of his eye. 'How are you?'

Seamus grimaced. 'I'm sorry that I punched you,' he murmured.

'It's all right,' Harry said, remembering what Peter had told him about Seamus. 'Mind of we collect Ron and George to come with us?' Seamus shook his head. As they rode to the Atrium level on the lift, Harry noticed how Seamus all but pressed his back into the corner of the lift, giving each occupant a lengthy, wary look. He repeated the process once they were clustered around a table at the Leaky Cauldron, earning a startled look from Ron. The tension on Seamus' face increased when Neville joined them, but Harry knew it wasn't something he'd be able to explain to Ron. Not that Ron wouldn't understand it, but even as much as he and Ron confided in each other, Harry recognized there were simply things he would be unable to say.

This was one of them.